


Hair of the Dog

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-10-06
Updated: 2000-10-06
Packaged: 2018-11-10 16:16:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11130300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived atDue South Archive. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address onDue South Archive collection profile.





	Hair of the Dog

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

  
�Fraser

 

 

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"Fraser! Are you OK?" Ray tried to peer around the mailbox at his partner, but a ricochet made him duck back quickly.

  


"I am uninjured, Ray," came a calm voice from behind a parked car. "And more importantly, our assailant has a maximum of two shots left."

  


"You sure? How d'ya know?"

  


"The pistol he is carrying is a Desert Eagle, made by Israel Military Industries, which carries clips of seven, eight, or nine shots. He has already fired seven of them, and has no spare clip. He dropped it as we were chasing him past the"-here Fraser winced, as though just pronouncing a misspelled word pained him- "Kwik-E-Mart. It is holding nine bullets; therefore, it is safe to assume that the clip in the gun also holds nine."

  


"Greatness!" Ray started to peer around his mailbox again, but two shots drove him back. "That was two!" He sprang out from behind the mailbox and had raced two car-lengths before he had time to think, //God, please don't let this be the first time Fraser ever miscounted.//

  


A flash of red in his peripheral vision told him that Fraser was right behind him, and a furry white streak cut the corner and followed the perp. The sight of Diefenbaker jumping a decorative hedge caused the suspect to veer sharply right into a parking lot. As he ran past a sign pointing cars towards a drive-through window, he made a tossing motion with his right arm. Five seconds later, Ray made a flying tackle and pinned the guy onto a mini-van's hood. After slapping cuffs on the perp, he flashed his badge at the startled Mom inside the mini-van. Mom looked relieved. The four kids started cheering.

  


Ray hustled the guy off to the edge of the parking lot, where three black-and-whites were just arriving. //Where were they when we needed them?// He turned the perp over to the uniforms, and started looking for his partner. Fraser was poking around the privacy fence near the dumpster. "What'cha huntin', Frase?"

  


"Just before you apprehended the shooter, he threw his gun over here. I heard it glance off of metal, presumably the dumpster. However, I cannot find it here on the ground. I'm afraid that means that a search must be instituted within the bin."

  


"Ya mean we gotta go dumpster-diving?"

  


"Er, yes." Ray stifled a grin at the look on the Mountie's face. While searching through a McDonald's dumpster was not something he was looking forward to, the thought of seeing Fraser, Mister So-Clean-He-Squeaks, ankle-deep in leftover cheeseburgers was almost enough to make the whole thing worthwhile. Almost. "Waitin' won't make it smell better. Pitter patter, Frase."

  


"One moment, Ray." Fraser entered the McDonalds, and Ray could see him conversing with someone behind the counter. Fraser? Ordering McDonald's food? Naah. Fraser accepted something from the person behind the counter and returned to the dumpster.

  


"The manager was kind enough to give us some protective wear, Ray," said Fraser, passing him two food-service plastic gloves and holding up a roll of plastic wrap. It's use was quickly demonstrated when Fraser wrapped his boots in plastic from toe to knee. Ray followed suit.

  


The two men vaulted over the side of the dumpster to land unpleasantly on a mass that alternately squished and crackled. As they were poking through the mess, Diefenbaker leaped the side of the dumpster, as well, and began poking about with considerably more enthusiasm than the humans.

  


After five minutes of listening to Ray complain about the smell, Fraser at first thought the horrified, "Oh my Gawd!" was merely referring to the latest mass that the detective had overturned. He looked up in mild interest, preparing a sharp quip about the relative merits of the dumpster and Ray's refrigerator, to see his partner staring into the far corner of the dumpster with total horror on his face. Fraser turned to look. There was Dief, rolling luxuriously, rubbing alternate shoulders into the garbage in total bliss. Fraser hadn't seen him so happy since the July they'd been chasing a poacher and found an extremely rotten, near-liquid grizzly bear carcass. Dief had rolled in the carcass with the same enthusiasm he was showing now.

  


"Fraser! That's disgusting! Make him stop!"

  


"It is quite normal for wolves to roll in carrion, Ray. There are several theories--"

  


"This ain't carry-on, it's carry-out. And where would a wolf find a McDonald's--" Ray's argument was interrupted by Diefenbaker, who, having finished his stimulating roll in the marvelous new scent he'd discovered, further relaxed himself with a brisk shake. Goo went flying in all directions. The two men attempted to duck and cover, but there was no cover whatsoever in the dumpster.

  


As they straightened up, Dief bounded over with a happy yip. He looked absurdly pleased with himself and seemed offended when both men backed away from him. Ray gathered breath to say something scathing, but was forestalled when Dief perked his ears and nosed a gun out from some unidentifiable trash. Ray pounced.

  


"Here it is!" He pulled a pencil out of a pocket and picked the gun up carefully by inserting the pencil through the trigger guard. "Greatness! Now we'll just hope that ketchup doesn't remove fingerprints. Geez, it's huge. Did he think we were elephants or something?"

  


"The Desert Eagle is known for its phallic value as well as its reliability, Ray."

  


"Make up yer mind, Frase. Either it's fail-ing, or it's reliable." Ray began wading to the edge of the dumpster. "God, I need a shower."

  


"Er, Ray?"

  


"Yeah?"

  


Fraser carefully turned his back, so that Diefenbaker could not see his face. "Your shower has a removable head, does it not?"

  


"You mean a hose thing? Yeah. Why?"

  


"Well, if I might impose?." Fraser checked to be sure that Dief wasn't watching. "Diefenbaker needs a bath, as well."

  


"You've got to be kidding." Ray eyed the wolf, who was happily digging in the muck. "No, yer not kiddin'. But I really don't wanna put him in the GTO to get home. Come t' think of it, I don't wanna put _me_ in the GTO, either." He handed the gun to Fraser, and vaulted out of the dumpster. Fraser handed the gun back and followed suit.

  


"I've got sweats in the GTO, Frase. I'm gonna change in the bathroom, so's I don't stink up the car. What'll we do with him?"

  


Fraser looked up from mournfully surveying a miniscule spot of mustard on his sleeve - the only spot, as far as Ray could tell, that he had on him. It wasn't fair. Mountie Magic, or something.

  


"If you would be so kind as to stop by the consulate, Ray, and pick up a change of clothes for me, Dief and I will walk and meet you at your apartment."

  


\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  


Once inside Ray's apartment, Fraser suggested that Dief be bathed first. He removed his Serge, and hung it carefully in the closet, dismayed at the mustard stain. Fraser then turned to Dief. "Oh, dear." Diefenbaker had obviously seen the word "bath." He was crouched down on the far side of the couch, prepared to run, staring fixedly at Fraser's face. Ray, noticing the problem, moved casually to the other side of the couch. Fraser moved towards Dief, and, predictably, the wolf backed up a few steps. Fraser continued walking towards Dief, causing him to back up, until Dief bumped into Ray's legs. Dief whirled to meet the new threat. Fraser grabbed. 

  


"Quick! Open the bathroom door!" Fraser's dexterity was put to an extreme test, trying to carry 70 pounds of slippery, wiggling wolf. He made it to the tub, Ray helpfully holding the door, and dropped Dief in, only to catch him in midair as Dief immediately tried to leap out of the tub. Ray had closed the door and was leaning on the sink, watching with glee. Finally, Fraser managed to capture Dief in a modified judo hold. This had the advantage of holding him still, but the disadvantage of requiring both hands. "Ray, would you mind?"

  


Ray managed to stop giggling long enough to turn on the water, adjust the temperature, and start the shower. As he played the water over Dief, though, all hell broke loose. With a convulsive wriggle, Dief got his feet under him, leaped into the air and tried to scramble over Fraser's back. Fraser spun around, getting wet from the shower in the process, and grabbed Dief. As he was wrestling Dief back into the tub, Ray continued to try to wet him down, with the result that the walls, ceiling, shower curtain, and Fraser got remarkably wet, but Dief stayed relatively dry. A well-aimed flail from Dief's hind leg knocked the shower head out of Ray's hand, soaking Ray and the floor. Finally, after five minutes (it seemed like 30) of wrestling, Dief's fur was wet. Ray turned off the shower, and reached for the shampoo. As he began to massage it into Dief's fur (not trying terribly hard to avoid getting shampoo on Fraser), Dief gave up on lupine dignity and resorted to a series of earsplitting sled-dog shrieks. This got results. A thunderous knocking on Ray's front door ensued.

  


"Oh, my landlady's gonna kill me," Ray moaned. "There is no way she is even going to believe half of this. Lemme go explain." He reached for the door handle.

  


"Ray! No!" Too late. The second the door was open a fraction of an inch, Dief made his move. Twisting out of Fraser's hold, he shouldered the door open, and dripping, galloped into the living room, where he proceeded to divest himself of the water and shampoo by shaking furiously. Dirty, soapy water sprayed everywhere.

  


"Aaagh! Fraser! Grab him!" With the energy common in freshly-bathed animals, Dief began racing around the living room, into and out of the kitchen, pausing only to shake more water out of his fur. Both men pursued in vain, until a particularly well-timed tackle from Ray brought Dief to a halt. The pounding on the door still hadn't stopped, so as Fraser dragged Dief back into the bathroom, Ray headed for the door.

  


Fraser had just managed to get Dief back into the tub when there was a tap on the door. "Hang onta him, Frase. I'm comin' in." Fraser took a firm grip on Dief as Ray slipped into the bathroom after placating his landlady.

  


"I think he is sufficiently soapy, Ray. Now we just have to rinse him."

  


"Right." With a dubious glance, Ray started the water again.

  


\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  


A clean and towel-fluffy Dief was finally released from the chamber of horrors called a bathroom. He immediately expressed his opinion of the entire proceeding by shaking yet more water out of his fur and then leaping onto Ray's bed, where he dried off his face by rubbing it into the pillows and blankets, and sneezed several times to get water out of his nose. By this time, Ray was so exhausted he didn't even bother with complaining. Instead, he surveyed the wreck of the bathroom: half an inch of water on the floor, soggy towels lying in piles, a rip in the shower curtain, water dripping off the ceiling and walls, and two totally bedraggled human beings.

  


"Will ya look at us, Frase? We look like rejects from a wet t-shirt contest." He turned to hunt up some clean, dry towels.

  


"I am not aware of any fabric quality that is emphasized by dampening a garment, Ray." 

  


"Hunh? No, Frase, yer not judgin' the t-shirt, yer judgin' what's inside it."

  


Fraser paused. What normally _did_ come inside shirts? Tissue paper? Cardboard? Cellophane? No, that was on the outside. Pins? He turned to Ray, opening his mouth to request clarification. Ray was trying to reach towels on the top shelf. His t-shirt, normally overly tight, now clung damply to every line of his frame. Oh. Fraser quickly shut his mouth and hoped that the flush on his face would be attributed to the exercise of wolf-bathing.

  


Ray handed Fraser a dry towel. "You wanna shower first?" He glanced at the tub. "Actually, yer _definitely_ gonna shower first. Yer wolf. Yer wolf hair. Yer problem."

  


Fraser looked at the tub, which had made a gasping, gurgling noise and was no longer draining. Clogging the drain was a wad of hair that strongly resembled a young rabbit, both in size and coloring.

  


//Oh, dear.//


End file.
